Elysium
by Anna McNarin
Summary: Repair this mirror of broken glass, let not my image be torn in half, make it so I cannot see, the hairline fractures in front of me . . . A Tale of Two Drakes.
1. Where The Mind Sleeps

It was positively the most pristine day the city of St. Canard had seen all year. The sky was clear, almost an electric true blue, with a few fluffy, flawless white clouds hanging about. A small steady breeze was slipping in and out of the trees with a soft, but tremendous rustle accompanied by children giggling in the branches. All in all, the perfect day for outdoor barbeques and games; the sweet smell of meat on a grill was everywhere. Absolutely no one was in their home on this shining Saturday afternoon. Well, almost no one.

Drake Mallard had to be one of the only people on his block not venturing outside to enjoy the day. Instead, he sat in his kitchen with the blinds drawn stabbing repetitiously at his lunch, a slight frown that had nothing to do with the food wrinkling his brow. After a few more jabs he let the fork drop into the macaroni. His baby blue eyes narrowed to his bill, lending him an air of confusion and contemplation. How many times now had he caught himself staring off into nothing? Not eating because he was full of . . . Emotions? Thoughts? Emptiness? Hell if he knew why this vacuum of an introspective cloud had glued itself to him. Nothing life changing, or threatening had happened to him recently -not taking into account the large knot on his forehead from a rouge baseball. No unusual circumstances , no strong criminal activity, absolutely nothing that he could pinpoint as the cause of this funk.

A little voice in his head piped up with a round of "liar, liar, pants on fire".

The crime fighter started tapping his fingers, annoyed that the voice was gaining in volume. Trying to distract himself, he started humming. A catchy little tune issued forth that people in another "other" dimension would have recognized as the Darkwing Duck theme song, to him it was just noise. Still "liar, liar" rang in his ears, playing on as grating background vocals to his smooth hum, growing louder and louder until finally . . .

"Enough already!" He pulled at the plumage on his head, and smashed his palms into his ears before pushing his plate out of the way, and burying his face in the crook of his arm. The little voice stopped, curiously waiting for the words that might follow.

"I know what's bothering me," the mallard grudgingly admitted into his cranberry shirt sleeve(a gift from Morgana). The little voice grinned and disappeared, leaving him with _"was that really so hard?"_ floating around in his brain in bold lettering.

Drake sighed, pulling his head up to stare at the blue and white back-splash. _But what to do? What _can_ I do? It's not like-_

"Daaaad! I need a band-aid."

"Huh? Wha -gaah! Gosalyn, what did you do?"

Drake had whirled around to find his energetic, nine year old daughter staring at him from the backdoor with one of her "ookaay, mydadwasonmars" looks. The left knee of her jeans was gone and a bright red, dripping mess in its place. The rest of her was covered with dirt and grass stains, including her fiery red hair. With one swift movement he had lifted the little girl under her arms -holding her away from his shirt- and set her on the counter, pulling one of several first aid kits out of a drawer.

"Talk little missy, how did you manage this?" Dabbing a disinfectant wipe over her knee, he shook his head and said, "this is disgusting!"

Gosalyn rolled her eyes. "Chill, Dad. I didn't break anything, except for the sprinkler head."

Drake paused. Did he really want to know? "Sprinkler head?"

"Yeah, it was sooo cool! Ow. Do you have to use that spray? I'm not going to die from a skinned knee."

"You never know where a serious infection might be hiding. It's better to be safe than sorry."

"Whatever. Anyway, Honker and I were playing soccer, mostly just practice goal shots, and we decided to be creative. You always say to use your brain, so I got the croquette mallets out of the garage, I got my bike, Honker got his bike, and then we started up a seriously cool game of polo."

Drake cocked an eyebrow at her. "Polo? Like the kind they play on horseback?"

"Yeah, but this is the best part: I'm speeding toward Honk. He's comin' at me. I swing and send that sorry soccer ball straight into the goal with no mercy." She imitated the winning shot with a huge smile, green eyes dancing, then lowered her hands sheepishly.

"Okay, you score a goal, then what?" Drake tied off the end of the bandage and looked his daughter in the eye.

She glanced back towards the yard. "Wellll, the end of my mallet sorta collided with the front of Honker's bike. He crashed -don't worry he didn't get hurt- and the back of his bike sorta went flying into my bike. I kinda went sideways over my handlebars and my knee slid into a sprinkler head, it snapped, and now I'm here sitting on the counter with you compulsively over wrapping my knee so I don't bleed to death."

Gosalyn inspected her dad's handiwork with "you've got to be kidding" written all over her face. "You do know I'm not going to die from this, right?"

Drake straightened out to the full of his 5' 7" frame and rolled his eyes. "Ha-ha, very funny. Now about the sprinkler head-"

Gosalyn's eyes grew twice their size. "Sprinkler head! I'm not in trouble am I? Because it really was just an accident, and I can pay for the sprinkler out of my allowance and- and."

Drake folded his arms and pinched the bridge of his eyes. "No, Gos, you're not in trouble, just don't ever do this again, got it?"

Her face lit up. "Got it. Thanks Dad." She wrapped her arms around him in a quick, but tight hug and bolted out the backdoor in a blur of red and purple.

Drake smiled deeply. A warm, tingling peace washed over him, filling him to the point of tears with adoration for the little girl he was proud to call his. He focused on her voice coming in from the yard and smirked, wondering if she would ever realize just how wrapped around her little finger he was.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he put up the med kit and started to clean the kitchen wanting ,albeit reluctantly, to get back to his reverie.

He sat back down with the morning newspaper and tried to read the headlines, only to lower it with an inquisitive frown. What was wrong with going easy on him just once? To his knowledge the fiend hadn't so much as kicked at a cat, or given the bird to anyone that day. So why was it bothering him? _Because if he didn't do something on one day, then he might do something on the next end up hurting someone._

An encore of "liar, liar" roared to life in the back of his mind, causing Drake to angrily mash the paper into a ball and hurl it across the kitchen. "Stop it, stop it, stop it."

Launchpad peeked in from the family room where he had been watching "Captain Rick Sky vs. the Ducksylvania Barons" -a movie Drake had declined to watch. The poster boy of a pilot had a curious, confused look on his face and was watching Drake through warm, dark honey coloured eyes.

"You ok, DW?"

Drake sighed and went to pick up the paper ball. "Yeah, I'm fine, LP, just arguing with myself. I think I might go to the Tower to do a bit of work."

"Oh. Ok."

He had just thrown the paper away when the phone let off a shrill, high pitched noise that was in no way to be considered a normal ring. Receiving a full blast from it, Drake leapt sideways into the table with shock. Swallowing the desire to swear loudly, he snatched the phone, hissing "what the heck did you do to this thing?"

Launchpad shrugged saying, "the ringer died, so I replaced it," just as Drake rolled his eyes and said "hello?"

For a second Drake was expressionless, then a frown of pure consternation set in. He pulled the phone away, stuck a finger in his ear to make sure he was hearing clearly, then held the phone out to Launchpad still looking lost.

"Here, it's for you."

Launchpad smiled. "For me? Gee, thanks. Hello? Oh, hi Loopy, what's up?"

Drake left the kitchen, wondering vaguely who "Loopy"was -he hadn't realized some people actually talked like that.

"Eh, maybe she crawled out of a secluded cave in California," he mumbled to himself, kicking at the air, making a mental note to ask Launchpad about her later.

Half way to the double blue arm chairs he changed his mind, an afternoon nap sounded a lot better than work. Dragging his feet up the stairs and into the hall, he had two things on his mind as he made his way to his room. One: had that girl really said "like hi!"? And two: why couldn't he get-

The carpet smashed into his beak, or rather he smashed into it.

"What the?" He said angrily, pushing himself up to look back at his feet. Trip wire. In actuality it was very fine fishing wire coming from under Gosalyn's door running the width of the hall, but none the less a well placed trip wire.

"Figures," he muttered before shouting, "Gosalyn!" Marching back down the stairs in full "irate father" mode past the ongoing movie, past the pilot . . .

"Hey, DW you got a minute? Loopy wants to know. . ."

"Not now, Launchpad."

. . . and out the door. His eyes locked in on a pair of kids and on to a certain red-haired, baseball wielding girl who knew the jig was up. The only question was which one? Although, she knew by the annoyed gleam in his eye it was one of her more creative ideas.

"Um, hi Mr. Mallard," came a soft, almost nasally voice.

"Hi, Honker." He said, sparing a glance at the bespeckled boy standing beside his guilty looking daughter.

"Hi, Dad, what's up?" She said cheerfully, trying to play innocent, which was hard when you didn't know what you were in trouble for.

Drake tapped his foot angrily. "What's up? What's up with the trip wire in the hall way! I mean booby-trapping your room is one thing, but-"

Gosalyn interrupted him. "Wait, just the trip wire?"

"Yes, the trip wire, what else would I," he stopped as a realization hit him. He took a deep breath, then calmly asked the inevitable, "what was it supposed to set off?"

Gosalyn opened her mouth just as a very loud "Yeowchie!" reached their ears, causing all three to turn and stare at the house wide eyed.

"It was supposed to set off a rubber dart gun that I modified." She said quietly as her dad's gaze fell back on her.

Drake leaned towards her. "Modified how?"

"Uh, I put a metal plate in the center of the rubber suction cup and ran a small wire with battery through the base so that it'll stick, but shock the mutant zombie that makes the mistake of entering the house. I guess it has a delayed reaction. I'll just go take it down now."

Drake smiled. "That sounds like the best idea I've heard all day. Oh, and by the way," he called over his shoulder as Gosalyn and Honker ran into the house, "after Honker helps you dismantle that thing you're grounded!"

"What! For how long?" Gosalyn skidded to a halt on the porch step.

"I'll let you know in a year."

"Aw, Dad, that's not fair."

"No, what's not fair is Launchpad getting electrocuted, now march!"

Gosalyn slouched in defeat. "It won't hurt him, it's just Launchpad."

"You just earned yourself double time, missy." Drake said, opening the door for them.

Gosalyn groaned. "Come on, Honk."

Drake sank listlessly into an armchair in the living room, listening to the muffled voices and occasional thud coming from the second floor. Now he really wanted to take a nap and clear his mind, but since _everything_ was going his way today, he wasn't remotely tired, nor did he feel like working. Quite suddenly, an idea came to him, one so simple he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it before. His eyes alighted with his decision and he practically jumped to the foot of the stairs.

"Hey, Gos," he called up the stairs.

"Yeah, Dad?" Came the answer, although he couldn't see her, and it was accompanied by Launchpad saying "yeowchie" for about the third time.

Drake groaned, then cleared his throat. "I'm going to go out for a bit, I'll be back in about an hour."

This time Gosalyn did stick her head around the corner. "Somebody see Quackerjack? New mission from S.H.U.S.H.? Mutant-zombie-werewolves-attacking-city-hall? CanIgo?"

_Mutant what? _Gosalyn's rush of words swirled around in his brain like bananas in a blender. Shaking away the momentary stun, Drake forced himself to appear sturn. "None of the above, I was going to go the store."

Gosalyn's tone went from interested to disappointed like a sudden drop in the ocean floor, then crawled back up a few notches. "Oh. Can we have some ice cream for dessert?" She asked hopefully.

"Maybe, but I don't know with the way you've been acting." Drake said, picking up his keys from a side table.

"I promise I'll be good! I'll even clean my room. And besides, don't you think Launchpad could use some ice cream after accidentally getting electrocuted?" The duckling implored.

"I said maybe." His voice closer to his normal tone. Internally, he was chuckling. "Just behave while I'm gone."

"No sweat, Dad."Gosalyn beamed at him, throwing a sloppy salute his way before ducking back in the hall.

Drake smiled to himself as he shut the front door behind him, "no sweat, Dad" had to be one of the most ominous phrases in the English language since "no problem".


	2. Almost Paradise

Nestled away in a not so little corner, just south east from the center of St. Canard sat a vision of paradise no one would have thought possible -not even the residents of the city herself. It wasn't that citizens _didn't_ believe such things were possible -in other cities- it just that this happened to be St. Canard, the largest cesspool for debauchery, corruption, and maliciousness on the west coast. At the same time though, crimes like petty theft, carjacking, jewelry store robberies hardly ever happened. Reason being, St. Canard had the second highest number of lunatics and madmen in the country, which kept all the normal crooks either far away, or in their homes. Maybe that's why the people of this fair and twisted city proudly revered St. Canard City Park with awe and tenderness, because for some reason the odd balls who existed in the shadows of day and night had left it alone, or maybe it was because people feared the plants themselves.

Wrought iron archways sat along the perimeter of the park marking the main entrances for the east, west, south, and north sides of the grounds. Behind the gothic gates, giant Evergreens framed well kept stone walkways running throughout, leading to grassy clearings, a rose garden at the south end, and the occasional gazebo if you knew where to turn. The best thing about having a park this large in St. Canard was that you could always find a place to hide, or at least a place to be inconspicuous and undisturbed. If a person paid enough attention they would notice several trails off the beaten path leading to things like small ponds, hidden benches, and picture perfect picnic areas.

It was in one of the many off beat clearings that the stressed out masked mallard had taken refuge, laying with his hands behind his head, gazing at the deep blue sky. Stretched out on the shady grass with all the varieties of vegetation around you really made you feel like you were somewhere else entirely, which is exactly where he wanted to be.

Drake closed his eyes and inhaled deeply taking in the sweet smell of flowers and pine, the fresh air carried in from the bay, the sound of the wind through the trees, birds chirping, distant children laughing, two men arguing . . . _Two men arguing?_

He sat up abruptly and trained his keen eyes in the direction of the sound. Soon enough, up the deserted path lumbered a tall, heavy set man in a jump suit. His tan fur and blue coveralls were covered in grease and spots resembling mustard. His companion, who materialized shortly after, was a duck of less than average height -or was he just slouching?- and athletic build, who's dark red shirt appeared rumpled, but his pants, in stark contrast, looked pressed. The two were arguing over something that Drake couldn't discern from the snippets of dialogue he could actually translate into real English, but the tone in their voices was clear enough: these two meant trouble.

He watched them cautiously, hoping that they might pass by without noticing him at all, the big one looked angry enough to start swinging. He really didn't want to have to fight these two off, he didn't like to draw attention to himself in the daylight hours -a single father who was able to fight off a guy four times his size like in a Jackie Chun movie? Far too suspicious. People would get curious and start asking questions, or worse, gang up on _him._

To his surprise, the two men failed to notice him. Apparently their argument, which sounded like the topic might have been motorcycle racing until the death threats started, really was that interesting or at least absorbing. Drake smiled sardonically with a contemptuous humph. They just had to stop in front of him to start threatening each other didn't they? Perfect. Just perfect.

He followed their angry, mindless banter as best he could and snorted, these two were real idiots. While he had never seen the tall one before, his guess was that the guy spent more time in bars than garages. His words were slurred and he was blinking a lot. Drake frowned disgustedly. It wasn't even 3 o'clock in the afternoon. If ever he saw a candidate for alcoholics anonymous it was this guy, and God help the poor sap who landed the task of taking his crutch away.

A quick, volatile movement pulled his attention away from the semi-truck of a man to the by far shorter duck, whom he guessed was no taller than five feet, six inches. His shirt sleeves were rolled up haphazardly, he had a damp spot down his front and on one elbow, and a napkin in his breast pocket. His faded black jeans, upon closer scrutiny, looked like he had spilled something on one leg and not bothered to clean it up. It also could have been that he had never noticed, as he seemed to be having trouble collecting his thoughts and was mildly off balance. The man's eyes had a cloudy haze over them typical with substance abuse, or in his case, drunkenness.

Drake blinked, then flat out stared, half of him went ice cold and the other half . . . the other half, well, it sort of felt like a warm sickness sliding down the back of his throat. He swallowed the sensation and ran his eyes over the duck in full. He simply couldn't believe it, Reginald Bushroot disowning plants for the rest of time would been less surprising than this.

The disheveled duck finally noticed him gawking at him and frowned like he had just caught a foul stench in the air. For a moment the two just ran their eyes over the other, attempting to process that they really were at the same place, at the same time. Two sets of fire blue eyes locked. The unruly duck raised a finger towards him and opened his mouth to say something. He didn't get the chance.

Drake's shock wore off and he blurted out, "Are you _drunk_?"

He spoke to the man above him like a scolding parent would a rowdy teenager. The other closed his mouth and lowered his hand. His unfocused body language giving away confusion and annoyance as cloudy blue eyes glared down menacingly at Drake.

The tall one blinked like a lost kid, then saw Drake sitting on the grass. "Hey, what are you doin' down there?"

Needless to say, nobody acknowledged him. Even if they had heard him, neither mallard would have cared enough to answer him.

"You call _me_ the idiot, complain about _me_ doing stupid stuff, and you're wandering around drunk in public? How stupid is that! Just watch, come tomorrow I'll find out some rookie landed you in jail."

The duck managed to compose himself, which was a task in itself because his feathers were turning red with anger. He balled his fists and hovered over Drake.

"I am not drunk!"

Drake instantaneously leapt up to push back, going beak to beak. "That is one of the biggest lines I've ever heard. You smell like the inside of an ash tray and scotch!"

The duck huffed. "I'm surprised you know what any of that stuff smells like at all."

"A-ha! You admit it." Drake shouted triumphantly, jumping back so he could stick his finger in the other's face.

"I didn't admit to jack," the duck said, swatting Drake's finger away.

"I said scotch, not whiskey."

The duck smacked his head painfully and groaned. "I cannot believe you just said that."

Drake's brain caught up with his words, followed shortly by an arrested look. "Er, ooh boy, that was bad, wasn't it?"

"You think! That was -ooh, hold on." The duck put his hands on his head and blinked a couple of times trying to steady himself.

Drake flashed him a pleased smile. "Not drunk, huh?"

"Shut up."

Voice dripping with over acted mockery, Drake said, "Too plastered to think of a decent come back?"

"How 'bout you shut the hell up before I stuff you in a trash can."

"Hmm, still not up to your usual par, but I'll give you credit for trying."

About ready to blow, the duck grated his teeth together. "Dammit, Duncewing -oof!"

Drake elbowed the surly duck hard in the stomach, hissing, "watch it will ya?"

"You dumb duck," he wrapped his arms around his middle in an attempt to keep from falling over, "if I'm as drunk as you think I am -WHY THE HELL DID YOU JUST DO THAT? . . . if I throw up, it'll be on you."

Drake rolled his eyes. "Lovely, Neg -guh!" Drake doubled over, a sadistic grin grew on his attackers face, a balled fist at his side.

"Watch it will ya,_ Drakey_?" The gun loving mallard said mockingly, as Drake sank to his knees grumbling maliciously.

"Hey, I didn't elbow you this hard!" He said in gasps.

The horribly twisted smile grew brighter. "I know."

"Why you . . ." Drake sprang up and pinned his antagonist to the ground, who caught off guard, had the wind knocked out of him.

"Drake, you dork, get off me." He muttered, eyes partially closed.

"Not a chance."

"No, really, get off -NOW!"

A moment later Drake found himself flying into a bush as the scoundrel ran for the nearest trash can, hands over his bill. He sat up out of the bramble and watched the mess of a man lose the contents of his stomach.

Feeling a little guilty, Drake simply said, "oh, uh, sorry," just loud enough for the other to hear.

The sickly mallard came back, glared at him, then dropped to the ground flat on his stomach, mumbling a string of indecipherable words.

Having watched the two ducks argue in silence, the big man squinted his eyes and spoke up. "Hey, what kind a joke is this? You laced my drink wid somethan didn't you? I'm seeing double."

Drake looked at the man. "What are you talking about?"

The big guy looked perplexed. "What you mean, what am I talkin' about? I'm sayin' I'm seein' two of ya . . . a duck in red on the right and a duck in red on the left."

The two mallards, looked at each other, then stared absently at the large guy. Dressing alike, or coming very close to it had never really been a big deal with them. Usually, they saw what they wanted to see, choosing to blatantly ignore what -for some reason- only they noticed, but for this gargantuan to think he was seeing things . . .

When neither duck answered, he tried again. "How come there's two of you when there wasn't before?"

Drake rolled his eyes. "Because I was lying on the grass before you got here."

The big man seemed even more lost. "But you're still lying on the grass, or the you on my right is."

The duck "on his right" sat up and put his head between his knees, "you've got to be kidding me."

Drake smiled cheekily, "uh, you are aware that some people just look alike, right?"

"Uh, yeah. Wait, so there really is two of you?"

"Uh, yeah," Drake said mockingly.

The large man frowned. "So . . . you guys are brothers?"

"Oh, hell no!" The messy red duck shot his head up, his face a mixture of loathing and offense.

Drake scoffed at the other's out burst. "Thank God for small favors."

"Um, okay, I guess that works. You two don't look alike anyway, you look the same, but not really, only you do . . . uh," a small light seemed to click, "Oh! Like twins, you two look like twins."

Drake smacked his forehead and ran his hand down with a half moan, half groan, this guy was about as intelligent as paint. He glanced at the man beside him, the guy looked like he was having stitches pulled the hard way. Of course, in typical Mallard fashion, he was anything but quite.

"I'm curious, honestly now, WHAT THE HELL DID YOU _THINK_ YOU WERE LOOKING AT?"

He was seething, positively teed off and barked out the first sentence that came to mind, instantaneously regretting it when he realized what he had just admitted to. Even Drake was shocked by it and looked at him curiously, they grimaced when their portly "friend" noticeably caught on. Of all people, why him? Why not someone like Launchpad, or Megavolt, who would forget five minutes later?

The big man's eyes grew wide. "Oh, I get it. So I'm not seeing things."

"Uh, no." Drake said.

"Oh, okay -why didn't you tell me you had a twin, Steve?"

Drake swallowed hard to keep from laughing, snorting instead. "Um, yeah, _Steve_, why didn't you tell him?"

"Can it, Dip."

The big man looked hurt. "I thought we were friends."

"Steve" smiled grimly, which people had a bad habit of interpreting as friendly. Drake was snickering. He smiled at his evil twin, earning him a patent sneer in reply.

"Uh, we are friends, Lanton, and I would have told you about Drakey -eventually, if the topic ever came up . . . in hell," he added under his breath. A calculated look appeared on his face. _No, not even then._

Lanton smiled, "oh, okay," then chuckled, "Drakey is sure a funny name."

Drake ground his teeth. "It's Drake, not Drakey!"

"Oh, but to me you'll always be Drakey, dear _brother_." The word "brother" came out sounding like the type of warm, "love you" statement one has whispered in their ear seconds before being thrown out a ten story window.

"Nice to know you care." Drake said nicely, refraining from the urge to punch him.

Lanton started laughing. "You two are real funny. You really sound like you hate each other."

"I know, convincing isn't it?" Drake retorted dryly.

"Damn, he's dumb," mumbled the mallard menace.

"Oh, yeah." He agreed quietly. "Well, this has been loads of fun and I hate to say it, but I promised Gos I'd pick up some ice cream at the store, so I better get going."

Cold blue eyes narrowed at him, making him feel like a skunk for skipping out and future road kill all at once. Drake flashed an uneasy grin and shrugged. The blue eyes went arctic and the hint of a sneer started to form. The now uncomfortable mallard glared at the other, as if to say "what?" and turned to leave, but was stopped by Lanton's big hand coming down on his arm like an ax.

"Oh, you can't leave now."

"I can't?" Drake's feet turned to lead.

Lanton beamed at him. "Of course not, we was headed back to my place for a barbecue."

"Ah, well, that's very nice of you, but I really should be going, really." He tried pulling free of the man gently, but ended up grunting and groaning trying just to move his beefy fingers. A husky chuckle floated up from the lawn and Drake suddenly wanted to be free of this guy more than anything else in the world. Not that his struggles did any good, or that Lanton could be counted on to notice.

"Nonsense, Tiffy will want to meet you and she can't meet you if you're not there."

Drake mouthed "Tiffy?" towards his mirror image on the grass, who merely shrugged, a frightful smile on his face.

"Come on guys." Lanton said, practically picking the sadistic duck up with his free hand.

The chilling smile dropped from his face like a brick. "Hey, Lanton, you knob, what do you think you're doing?"

"Yeah, how 'bout going easy on the grip, hey big guy?" Drake interjected, doing his best to keep from being pulled along side his twin.

The two shared a split second "aw, crud" before Lanton took off down the path, nearly adding a few inches to the length of their arms. After about five minutes of being dragged yelling down city streets, causing numerous bystanders to stare at them, each mallard decided that this city was beyond useless as no one even moved to help them, not even the cops.

Drake supposed he could understand the people's hesitance, Lanton after all, was about twice the size of the average person. One of his hands alone covered the whole of his hand and half his arm, but the cops not doing anything was just pathetic. Darkwing Duck would have at least tried to help and Negaduck, well, he would probably ignore him, or duct tape him to the hood of a bus, or something equally odd. Unfortunately, he _was_ Darkwing Duck and Negaduck . . . _wait a minute, that's it!_ He opened his mouth only to be cut off by a very irate plain clothes pyromaniac.

"No, you can't have a stick of dynamite, it'd kill us before him, and no I don't have a knife, chainsaw, pickax, or even a toothpick, so don't ask."

Drake felt useless. "So, we really are stuck," he said somberly.

The two stared at each other in dawning horror and stared punching, kicking, and yelling for help with renewed vigor. They would never admit it, but at that instant they were of the same mind and determination to free themselves before being sucked into the bowls of the hole Lanton called home. Instead, all their efforts went to waste as they turned onto a residential street and became caught in the cosmic pull one house in particular emitted. Identical shouts of terror echoed down the deserted lane when they understood where it was Lanton was leading them: 0300 Rauwolfia Drive.

* * *

_Author's Note: To let my repeat readers, if any, know, I've changed "east coast" to "west" after the realization that St. Canard & Duckburg are in the same state... Well, Duckburg is in Calisota, a place located on the west coast as written by Don Rosa, so I switched it. I also upped Gosalyn's age to nine after reading in several places that's her actual age. 5-21-2012_


	3. 0300 Rauwolfia Drive

'"But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.  
"Oh, you ca'n't help that," said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."  
"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice.  
"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."'  
-Lewis Carroll

* * *

The home of Lanton and Tiffy Waffleburn would appear to most people to be a quant, reasonably kept one story home a stones throw away from the west end of St. Canard. While passersby would be shocked at the number of pink lawn flamingos, they would naturally assume an old lady lived there simply from the over all feel of the place and move on. Unfortunately, for the two ducks in Lanton's arms, the luxury of such an assumption was not to be had as they were forcibly dragged over the threshold into what both would later swear was the missing level of hell. 

The plastic flamingos alone seemed to sense their plight and watched the duo struggle for freedom. Numerous black eyes locked with theirs, temporarily turning their brains to mush. A shadow cast from an ivy covered archway creeping down their bodies broke the trance. Forming a silent truce, they attempted to form a block in the doorway by linking arms and latching onto the frame, determined to have one last go at salvation. The result? A few splinters and having their arms practically dislocated; combined with a very loud, very frustrated roar, which concluded with the breaking of a clay pot. Drake, never being one to make waves, apologized for his foot accidentally knocking the pot over. Of course, Negs, never being one to believe anything Drake said, shot him a look that plainly said, "you're a dork". Drake had just enough time to stick out his tongue before the door swung shut and Lanton shouted, "Tiffy, I'm home, and I brought some friends."

To stand inside the home of the Waffleburns is to feel completely abandoned by God and humanity. To know you're slowly dying. That your soul is forever bound to the rotting flesh in which it was born. To lose all meaning of the word hope. To . . . to swear the air wasn't this cold a second ago. Drake shivered, wondering if it was just him, or if the AC was on.

He blinked, looking everywhere and nowhere, seeing but not hearing, knowing what was reality and what was not, only . . . only . . . _only that the reality is that you're standing next to yourself and you haven't been praying enough lately._

Lanton would never have known, and no one could have correctly guessed that the look of disgust forming on Negaduck's face wasn't simply disgust, or even hatred. It looked like he was trying to channel Joan Rivers and Carole Channing and _not_ throw up.

Drake was willing to bet that whatever Negaduck was thinking it was both similar, and far worse than his own thoughts. Negs's body language alone screamed of an unbelievable amount of self control coming into play. Drake was silently amazed, but kept a firm hand on his double's arm. Because regardless of whatever mental trick he was using, his gun hand was still shaking and his eyes were closer to smoldering ash than blue.

Praying that this nightmare would end shortly -and not in body bags- the do-gooder begun to note what was around -mostly looking for blunt objects should Negaduck lose it.

Though entryway had been set up as a softly lit receiving room with a hint of European origins, it came across as more of a country mishmash and smelled strongly of vanilla. Almost to accentuate the point, a nineteenth century English hat stand stood directly in front of the one window in the room, which ran long and thin beside the door. At its base sat a large stone rabbit wearing a top hat and leaning on a cane, with a gentle lady rabbit on its arm. The scene was completed by a lacy window treatment casting the rabbit and everything surrounding it into shades of baby pink, including the bunny patterned floor tiles.

Against the wall the Waffleburns had placed an antique white desk to catch keys, mail, and apparently everything else as the top of the thing couldn't be seen amongst a throng of clutter. A matching wicker bench sat beside the desk as another "catch all", only with coats, sweaters and shoes. All of it sat illuminated by a Brier Rabbit children's lamp that looked hand made rather than store bought.

At the far end of the foyer, between two sets of French doors stood a massive, mahogani china hutch crammed with ceramic figures of nothing but bunnies. Bunnies in swim wear, in bonnets, in dresses, in suits -even a Scarlet O'Hara bunny on a miniature movie set. There were bunnies playing house, shopping at a general store, picnicking, dancing, playing chess; the assortment went on and on. Drake felt as if his brain had been sucked down Rabbit Lane with no end in sight. To like bunnies was fine. A stone rabbit here or there was okay, they generally worked well in gardens. But to fill a hutch large enough to hold at least two complete china sets with rabbits and nothing but rabbits was pushing it.

A pained grimace replaced the fake smile Drake had been wearing and he tightened his grip on Negaduck's elbow. The sociopathic duck's twitching had come to a sudden halt and his breathing had a forced rhythmic flow to it. To stare at his face was to stare at a defaced monolith on the surface of the moon -at least it was in Drake's narration. He also had the distinct impression that the only reason Negaduck was able to walk was because Lanton was pushing them forward. He tugged on him, but his twin simply wobbled. No sardonic one liners, no insults, no "why the hell are you touching me", not even a sideways sneer.

Lanton turned them towards the set of doors on the right and shoved them through a mass of pink lace curtains. His happy-go-lucky voice cheerfully announcing that Tiffy was expecting them in the sweetest, most relaxing family room in the world. And it was into that particular room that the Mallard boys had happened to be dumped as Lanton politely excused himself through another door.

As their eyes slowly adjusted to the peach lighting a pair of dainty hands pulled them in further and a small woman with a high voice materialized before them. Her cinnamon curls bouncing around her head as she excitedly shoved them into their seats. Tiffy, talking a mile a minute about God only knows what, poured three tea cups of what looked like lemonade and told them to help themselves. Before taking her own seat across from them, she turned and lit several bunny shaped candles on the fire mantel, all the while proudly stating that she had decorated the room herself.

Up until that point, Drake hadn't bothered to observe anything other than Tiffy Waffleburn. But on her mentioning the room everything came into sharp focus and he finally pinched Negs, hissing their shared name sharply under his breath. Drake watched his twin come to, glance around, then start to gag. Somewhere between the blue and pink rose patterned wallpaper, a window seat full of stuffed rabbits -some with bows, some with bright clothes, some with diapers and rattles- to a smaller hutch with dishes featuring Peter Cottontail, two sets of blue eyes grew steadily wider and into identical expressions of disheartenment.

Tiffy, being the sugary sweet lass she was, addressed their reaction with a lively speech on rabbits and why this room was so special to her, gesturing repeatedly to her fireplace. Which to the boy's morbid curiosity, featured bricks inscribed with the names -as she informed them- of every pet bunny she had ever had. The more stuff in the room she talked about, the more they noticed the stuff she didn't: bunny-rabbit border, carved rabbits on the chair rail, a small mural by the fireplace depicting sleeping bunnies, and set in front of them on a bunny theme coffee table were bunny cakes with bows; even their tea cups had bunnies.

Drake was taking it all in stride, trying to keep himself from screaming. At this point, he would have given up crime fighting just to be anywhere but here. He could handle disgustingly sweet rather well, or so he thought, but it was like something his dad said once, "too much sugar will make you sick". Of course, his dad had been talking to his older sister about too much PDA when he said it, but he thought the words rang truer in regards to Tiffy Waffleburn and her rabbits.

How the heck had he managed to get himself into this mess without even trying anyway? Here he was sitting on a small blue love seat, stuffed between a now very sober Negaduck and the pinkest hand-made bunny pillows he had ever seen, when he should have been at the store. Secretly he wondered if this was payback for leaving the toilet seat up when he had the Muddlefoots over for dinner the other day, because he couldn't think of anything else he might have done to deserve this.

He tried to get comfortable, but the pillows wouldn't allow for much movement and if he moved any closer to Negs he would be sitting on him. His arm was pinned behind his twin's shoulder as it was. Leaning his full weight on his left arm in an attempt to make more space, a sharp pinch in his side caused him to flinch. From behind him he produced a small bunny rattle, the ears of which would have fallen under the child endangerment category. He turned slightly, and subtly dropped the toy over the back of the couch. Next to him, Negaduck was motionless despite all his previous fidgeting. Drake couldn't say he was too surprised to find him whiter than a sheet -if that was possible- and his eyes nothing more than two ink drops. If this house made him depressed, he couldn't imagine what Negs was going through.

"Kill me."

"Wha?" Drake waited until Tiffy had disappeared into the kitchen -she had forgotten the tea, although she already had a tea set out; sometimes it hurts too much to ask- then peered worriedly at his twin.

"Uh, I don't normally ask this, but are you going to be okay?"

"I'm gonna kill her. I'm going to turn this hell hole into a charred wonderland and then I'm going to kill her." He whispered harshly.

Drake chuckled nervously, "she's not that annoying."

Negs squeezed the head off a bunny puppet. "I'm not talking about her yackking, I'm talking about this stupid room. Anybody with _this_ much pink lace in one room deserves to die."

Drake scratched his head. "A psychiatric evaluation maybe . . . Honestly, I thought for sure you would have at least punched Lanton for the flamingos."

"Give me a little credit will ya? If I was going to anything, one of those flamingos would have found its way up his..."

"All right, all right, I get the picture. You don't have to say it."

"What if I just really want to?"

"And what if they heard you?"

"Who cares?"

"I do. I rather they _not_ find out what kind of person you are."

Negs smirked. "Yeah, you're right, they might think it's you."

Drake glared at him. "I would never think to stick a flamingo down someone's throat."

Negs flinched. "Down his throat? No, no, no, here." He put his beak to Drake's ear and started whispering.

With every passing second the smile on Negaduck's face grew, while Drake's cheeks went from white to tomato red. His jaw dropped to his lap in the type of horror that only comes with graphic details and a wild imagination.

Negs leaned back chuckling, pleased he had once again managed to ruffle Dipwing's feathers. Which, granted that upsetting the Dork was as easy as blowing up a microwave, it was still great entertainment. All that was left for him to do was to sit back and watch the show. Currently, Drakey was frozen in his seat, but his consternation was melting away and it was just a matter of time before . . . _three, two, one._

Reality rushed back through Drake's veins, followed by a blush that left him feeling faint. He slumped against the couch and stared wide eyed at his laughing twin.

"That is just sick! How . . . I . . . I didn't know that was possible. I didn't _want_ to know that was possible."

Negaduck laughed. "What's the matter, DW, afraid someone will find out you're a freak?"

Drake blushed angrily. "You . . . you . . ."

"Hey, you're the one turning red."

"Shut up."

"Come on, you know you are, just admit it. Who's gonna know?"

"I'm not playing your game." Drake crossed his arms and stared pointedly at the other side of the room.

Negaduck was taken aback. "What game? I'm being absolutely serious here."

"You have a twisted sense of humour, you know that?"

"Nice try, but flattery won't get you out of this one." Negs shifted to face him, resting an arm on the back of the couch. "Just one little sentence, that's all I'm asking. I, Darkwing Duck am a freak- that's all you have to say."

"I refuse to even pretend what you say is true."

"Oooh, getting a little testy are we? What are you hiding?"

"Nothing."

Negaduck scoffed. "Yeah right, I'll believe that the day Launchpad stops crashing."

"Believe what you want."

Negs smiled nonchalantly. "All right, I will. I choose to believe that," he lowered his voice to a crude whisper, "Dickwing Dork . . . is . . . a . . . carnal, softbill of a duck, who is afraid to admit the sweat on his brow is from..."

"Shut up! Shut the hell up you conniving wasteland of a human being!"

"Hmm, that's not half bad, I might use that one."

Drake fumed and sat there opening and closing his mouth, his index finger skyward.

Negs smirked. "Aw, did I make you mad?"

"You . . . you are nothing more than a degenerate, self-conscious, pistil loving maniac -and I don't mean the crude pieces of metal you like to sit on either. The only jolt you get out of life is causing enough destruction to overshadow the fact that you're a soulless waste of space. Don't push your sick fantasies on me and think just because some pencil wielding nutcase decided that one universe wasn't enough, that I think like you!"

Negaduck threw his head back, eyes wide, laughing in complete surprise. "Whoa, who would have thought you had it in you to come up with that, and people say I have pent up aggression."

"_And_ since you're not from _around_ here, if someone where to do the world a favour and kill you, would that filthy whore of a black hole you call a soul suck its self into oblivion and take your body with it? Or would you just go to hell where not even the vilest of demons would want to touch you? Even if it was just to use your cracked skull as a latrine."

For a moment Negs seemed truly astounded. "Crud, if that's what you see when you're awake, I don't even want to know what kind of dreams you have. I'll give you points for creativity, but all that makes me wonder . . . does Gosalyn know what you and Launchpad_ really_ do at night?"

The movement was fast, almost too fast . . . it was too fast. Negaduck had curled into himself, fighting for air in staggered heaves before he realized what had happened. Drake had punched him, seriously punched him. In one fluid motion, Drake had spun up and around to hover over him. The pause had lasted less than a blink of the eye, when his chest abruptly buckled and snapped. Negaduck forced himself to look up into the shadow that hung above his head. He stared directly into his eyes, down at the cuts on his hand, then back into the deep blue abyss that had always followed him. Drawing out a small hand pistol, he leveled it at Drake's head.

"If I blow your brains out, does that count as suicide?"

"Only on your dammed plane of existence."

"Clever, I never would have thought Saint Darkwing capable of such a witty comeback -alert the media."

"Funny."

"What, that the media would actually be interested in anything you say, or your amazing ability to swallow your own crap? Personally, I don't know how you can stomach it."

"I could say the same of you. Although, I'm sure not having a soul makes it a lot easier, don't have to worry about what you don't have."

A small click came from the gun. "Don't push me, DW, I hadn't wanted to make your death a quick one."

Drake stared down the barrel, utterly perplexed that he wasn't the least bit afraid. "Just shoot already, if I'm going to die, I'm going to die. It's not that hard."

"Not that hard, huh?" Negaduck put the gun in Drake's hand and placed it against his own head, smiling. "Prove it."

A small, thin finger curled around the trigger, tightened gently and stopped. Had he stopped his finger, or had his finger stopped him? Why had he stopped? An irritated voice broke into his mind.

"Are you going to pull the trigger or not? I rather have a head start on my bathroom duty in hell than sit here on Michael Jackson's old playroom couch watching you have a moral argument with yourself."

" . . . Drake I . . ."

"DON'T CALL ME BY THAT NAME!"

Something snapped in his brain. "WHAT AM I DOING?"

"Right now, nothing, that's the problem."

Drake meant to lower his hand, he wanted to lower it, but he didn't. Choosing, instead to gaze in pleading shock at the determined face in front of him.

"No way . . . you have to be after something."

"Holy crap, you are as dumb as you look in that purple suit. I already told you to kill me, so KILL ME. Trust me, it'll make you feel better."

"No, this wasn't . . . this won't . . ." His hand started to sweat. He wanted to do it, then he didn't, and then he did.

"Earth to Darkwing Duck, helloo, are you in there, are you going to fire the stupid gun, or am I going to have to do it myself?"

"I . . . I guess."

"You guess. Great. I'm happy for you, really. And I would love to spend more time talking to you about your indecisiveness, but I was supposed to meet Death's sister in the back of a car twenty minutes ago and I still need to buy condoms."

"You can't seriously want me to..."

"WHAT ABOUT "KILL ME" DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?"

The gun started shaking. Negs snarled. At this rate, the idiot was more likely to bruise him than shoot him. He covered Drake's hand with his own to steady it.

"It would be you to mess up a point blank shot."

"Your hand is clammy." He realized.

"So's yours. Less talk, more squeezing."

Negaduck slid his finger over Drake's and pressed down hard on the trigger.


	4. Cracks In The Wall

_"But his love of life is wonderful; I go further: I, who sicken and freeze at the mere thought of him, when I recall the abjection and passion of this attachment, and when I know how he fears my power to cut him off by suicide, I find it in my heart to pity him."  
-Robert Louis Stevenson_

* * *

He pushed himself away; tore his hand from the sweaty, limp appendage keeping him in place and crumpled to the floor breathing erratically. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to forget he could see, trying to forget he could hear. A wisp of smoke tickled his nose and he squeezed the metal handle until his fingers hurt. What looked like white snow danced in his vision and on the back of his eyelids. A strained, "oh dear God," shot out of his mouth as he put his head between his knees. His lips and throat felt dry, and his hand ice cold where a warm palm had been moments before. An inhuman white hot silence burned his ears and his eyes started to water under the pressure.

"I've had enough."

He raised his head to glare painfully at the spitting image of himself, who sat watching him from the couch. His face lax and his eyes indecipherable. A tiny hole in the back cushion could be seen just above where the bullet had grazed his shoulder. If he was bleeding it was impossible to tell as any blood would have blended in with his shirt. As for the back of the couch . . . well, considering who the gun belong to and all the cotton in the air, "non-existent" was the understatement of the year.

"Enough of arguing, of stupid fights that _never_ go anywhere . . . I . . ." He sighed, pressing his free palm against his eye and tossing the gun on the couch with the other.

Drake wanted to go home and take that nap he meant to earlier, and forget about this whole thing. Then it dawned on him, why not? Why not just leave? There was nothing keeping him here, his curiosity was gone as was his composure, and it was a straight shot . . . scratch that . . . it was a straight _line_ to the front door. Lanton hadn't locked it.

He got to his feet, sparing a glance at his silent double. His countenance had changed, but what had changed Drake wouldn't have been able to put to words. The idea that someone should know he had, however briefly, seen inside his twin's mind wasn't something he relished.

He gazed at him thoughtfully. Should he bother to tell him he was leaving? Drake shook his head. What was the point? His actions would be obvious enough and yet he couldn't bring himself to move. He felt he was entitled to an explanation, or at least a darn good reason for everything that had happened, except he wasn't sure he wanted one. The expression his twin was wearing -if you could call watching somebody an expression- was down right eerie.

Their eyes met and Drake found himself wondering if his eyes looked as translucent as his twin's. His twin -since when had he thought of him as that? He honestly couldn't remember, but the sickening knot in his stomach told him it had been for a while now. Did Negs think of him that way?

Drake blanched. What in the world was he thinking! He needed to go. He had been here too long. Negaduck was being far too quite and staring way too much; something Drake found more than a bit creepy, especially since his repertoire consisted of everything loud and obnoxious. And having those liquid blue eyes continuously on him made him feel like he was in one of those dreams people have about going to school and realizing they're naked.

It was the house. It had to be the house. It was driving them insane, which explained why Negs was acting funny, why he was over analyzing everything, and why for some reason he noticed that Negaduck's eyes had gold streaks in the exact same places as his. Except, why did he assume they would be different? And why was he dwelling on it? Oh, yes, the bunnies, the colours, Neg's stupid gun -the house was crazy and so was he. It made perfect sense, didn't it? Crud, he really, really needed to go home and take that nap.

He turned to leave, but nearly gave himself a heart attack instead. He was already at the door to the foyer and in the process of reaching for the handle. He had left the middle of the room and not even known it. Okay, now he had a headache.

"Don't leave."

Okay, make that a migraine.

Drake looked back to see Negs hop up from the couch to stand beside it.

"You can't leave."

He knew it. He was going to die. He was going to be killed in a house of bunnies by a nutcase who . . . _sounds exactly like me?_ Drake rubbed his ear. Maybe he wasn't hearing right, but he could have sworn Negaduck had sounded like Darkwing Duck.

He considered asking, but instead heard himself say,"give me one good reason why I should stay."

"Do you want to stay alive?"

This time Drake knew he wasn't imaging things, Negaduck had definitely sounded like Darkwing Duck, which meant he should really run away instead of walk away. He hadn't opened the door two inches when Negaduck grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He snapped.

"What's the matter with you? Do you have any idea just how weird you're acting?"

"Can it." Negs glanced in the hallway, then closed the door. "You can't leave, DW."

Drake stared at him as if he had just seen him save a kitten. "Okay, what's going on? What are you up to? What's with the "DW" all of a sudden? Why do you sound like me? And why can't I leave!"

Negs growled irritably. "If I knew what was going on I still wouldn't tell you."

"Now you sound like yourself!"

"How do _you_ sound when you're madder than hell?"

"And what do you mean you wouldn't tell me?"

"JUST ANSWER THE QUESTION."

"Uh, I guess a lot like you -sometimes anyway."

Negs smiled mockingly. "Very good. How do you think I would sound if I _wasn't_ angry?"

Drake shrugged. "I don't know, like me I guess."

Negaduck motioned with his hand."Come one now, finish the thought . . . "

"Wait, you mean for that one second you weren't mad about anything?"

Drake knitted his brow. "What changed?"

"You started talking."

"Oh."_ Well that was simple enough._ "Now do you mind telling me what's going on? You have a huge amount of explaining to do, so why not start with why I can't leave this hell hole."

Negs raised a brow. "For someone who doesn't like foul language, you've sure been using a lot of it."

"I have not! A creative phrase or two yes, but I don't cuss."

"Do you know what the word "foul" means?"

"Of course I do."

"Then you should know that I wasn't strictly accusing you of cussing."

"Well of course! Eh . . . um."

Negs crossed his arms. "Moron."

"Anyway . . . Why are either of us still here? It's plain as day this place is driving us both crazy. Lets just leave and forget all this ever happened."

"Can't."

Drake groaned. "And why in the world not?"

"Since when is the two of us being in the same place at the same time ever really by accident?"

"It's not -usually. But this couldn't have been planned, there's no way, my decision to go into the park was last minute."

"Yeah, but if I saw you walk out of Sal's Subs and into the park, who's to say Lanton didn't."

"That guy's an idiot, and why would he be interested in us?"

"That would be the million dollar question, wouldn't it?"

Something was off, very off. "What do you know that I don't?"

"What are you talking about?" Negs was now staring at him as if he'd just asked were Southern California was.

"You can't expect me to buy that, you've been acting stranger than usual all day. You never drink, you've been in this place over an hour and nothing is broken," Negs chuckled and pointed to the couch, "er, except that . . . AND THAT'S ANOTHER THING! You would never, and I mean _never_ put a gun to your own head and tell someone to kill you, especially me! It goes against everything you stand for!"

"You think so?"

Drake felt like a wind tunnel had opened up between his ears and blown everything out to sea. "Eh, huh?"

Negaduck gave him a half smile and sat back down on the couch. A cold chill wearing cleats ran down Drake's spine. He supposed any minute now the White Rabbit would jump out of the wall, tell him he was late for his date with a girl named Sadie and that she was waiting for him on a piano in Paris. He flopped down next to Negs utterly lost and confused.

"Do you hate me that much?" He asked softly to himself, not realizing he had said it aloud.

"Do you?" Came the reply.

Startled, Drake said, "I feel like I'm in a bad episode of The Twilight Zone."

"Who's to say you're not?"

Drake tossed his head back. "Oh, I don't know, they might argue otherwise."

"Who's they?"

"You won't like it."

"I don't generally like _anything_."

"Yeah, well this is different."

"How? What are you staring at anyway?" Negs threw a glance over his shoulder and nearly turned purple in the face. "BLOODY HELL, NOT THEM!"

He fell off the couch in a fitful mix of horror and pure loathing. Three framed posters advertizing "The Little Lost Bunnies" movies stared down at him tauntingly.

Drake looked at him pitifully. "I told you not to look."

"This lady is sick," he muttered, "and I have half a mind to pluck every last feather off your sorry..."

Drake clamped Negs's beak shut as Tiffy had rejoined them with the tea tray. She stared curiously at the two, her large brown eyes drifting from Drake's overly zealous grin to Negaduck's narrowed gaze.

"Oh dear, are you all right, Steve?" She asked obliviously, as Negaduck picked himself up off the floor.

Drake swallowed. He wanted to laugh, he felt he should laugh, but for some reason he couldn't remember how to laugh. Negs eyed him briefly, then glared at Tiffy.

"Don't call me Steve, lady."

Tiffy seemed perplexed. "Why not?"

"Because my name isn't and never was Steve." He said hotly. "Your drunk of an idiot husband just started calling me that. Who was I to shatter his preconceived notions?"

"You." Drake whispered, prompting Negs to smile horribly.

Tiffy pursed her lips. "Oh," she paused, "then what is your name?"

Broadsided by the question, Negs simply stared at her, eyes wide. He smiled charmingly. "You want to know _my_ name?"

Tiffy gazed him like he had spoken to her in Latin, as the wheels in Drake's head spun out of alignment, trying desperately to come up with something. The last thing either one of them needed was their usual names to come to light.

"Uh, his name is . . .uh," a light went off, "Draco! His name is Draco."

Negs momentarily looked derailed. Flopping back onto the couch, he asked in low, harsh tones, "Where the hell did you come up with that crap name?"

"Uh, a book."

"A book."

Negaduck paused, then nodded to himself. "You've done it again."

"Done what?"

"Just when I think you've reached the end of your limits, you find a new level of stupidity."

"Hey! I don't see you batting one hundred, either."

"This is just a though, but don't you think it would have been better to go with something _normal_, like, oh I don't know, Mike or David; something a little less conspicuous and believable."

"Uh, well, yeah probably, but it's only one letter off from our name, so I though why not. Besides, we could tell Tiffy your name was Bunny and I bet she'd believe us."

Negaduck growled."There's a two letter difference you dunce, and had you told her my name was Bunny I would have turned you into rabbit food the hard way."

A brilliant light suddenly flashed before their eyes, forcing them to squint in confusion. Tiffy had unleashed the full power of her sugary smile on them.

"Oh, what a nice name! And what about your brother?"

Drake forced a grin. "Drake, Mrs. Waffleburn.

Tiffy smiled thoughtfully. "Hm, Drake and Draco. That is so cute!"

Negs smiled falsely.

"You're dead, Dipwing," he spat out so low that Drake wasn't quite sure he had heard it at all.

"This lady could cause diabetics to go into shock," Drake answered.

"I'll send _her_ into shock, just give me an hour and a blow torch."

"It would take you an hour?"

"Use your head, moron, decent torture sessions aren't bathroom stall quickies, and it would take a while to melt all those damn figurines."

"Little too messy for my tastes."

Negs nearly cracked a real grin. "That was almost funny."

A squeaky noise snapped the two back to reality and to Tiffy, who was giggling at them like one would a baby.

"You two are too cute whispering amongst yourselves like that. I guess it's true that twins have a language all their own, because I couldn't understand a thing," she said brightly.

"Why do I have the feeling that's a common occurrence." Drake mumbled.

"So," she beamed, "what's it like being an identical twin? Do people ever get you mixed up?"

"What's it like?" Drake repeated. "Uh, I don't know, never thought about it. Never wanted to." The latter said out of Tiffy's hearing range.

Not sparing a glance at Drake, Negs picked up the question. "It blows. Any other stupid questions?"

Tiffy sat in confusion, moving her lips like a fish before saying, "okay, but what does it _feel _like?"

"Go look in a mirror." Negs snapped.

Tiffy thought for a moment. "I suppose I could, but I look in mirrors all the time and it feels normal. Besides, I can't touch a mirror."

"Then go touch someone else."

Drake snorted, knowing Negs had meant that in every conceivable way, but that it had sailed right over Tiffy's cute little head.

"Other people don't feel like me, though."

"Holy..." This time Drake burst out laughing, drowning out the rest of his twin's words.

Tiffy smiled. "What's so funny, Drake?"

Negs gave her his first real smile that day. "Don't worry about it. It's a twin thing."

Drake choked back another laugh. "Yeah, a twin thing."

Another high squeal sailed out of their hostess. "You two are just way too cute. Oooh, I just want to lock you up and keep you!" Negs started to snort, but turned it into a cough as Tiffy launched into a tirade on _why_ she wanted to keep them. It was like watching a caffeinated squirrel on a trampoline.

"Energetic isn't she?"

"No rechargeable batteries for this one."

Drake leaned over slightly. "Then why does she need us?"

Negaduck smiled. "My guess is she can't read instructions."

"Read? I'm not entirely sure she doesn't have tunnel vision."

Drake had a point. Tiffy had yet to notice all the cotton strewn about, or the damage to her couch. In fact, Negs was starting to wonder if she'd notice if he set the window seat on fire.

He must have been broadcasting his thoughts loudly, because to his surprise Drake slipped him a lighter and said, "well, this _is_ The Twilight Zone isn't it?"

"Must be, hell isn't supposed to be nearly this cruel. But I was thinking of something larger." He flicked the lighter on and off, his eyes twinkling. "Something to cause a mushroom cloud -a small one, but big enough to send this place back to hell."

Drake frowned. "I'm curious . . . why haven't you set fire to anything yet?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Tiffy started laughing harder and harder until it was more a series of shrill gulps and hiccups. The two mallards exchanged looks of repugnance; this lady was definitely beginning to grate their nerves. Finally she stopped, but not before drawing a deep rasping breath.

"Uh, Mrs. Waffleburn, are you okay?"

Negs snorted, "no," and Tiffy answered, "I'm just fine, Drake."

"Uh, o-kay, just checking."

Tiffy giggled. "Well aren't you sweet. So how do you feel about having a twin?"

"You're really stuck on that, aren't you?"

"Oh, it's just that I'm so curious. I've never met twins before."

"It's nothing to get excited over, trust me."

For once Tiffy's bright smile faltered. "You don't feel special, or anything?"

Drake thought about it for a moment. "If feeling cursed is special, then yes."

Her eyes started tearing up, and her lip quivered. "That's so tragic I don't even want to think about it."

"Then don't." Negs piped up.

Tiffy was horrified. "I can't believe you two, being a twin is supposed to be something joyful and special -kind a like a secret club."

"Lady, the only special thing in this room is you."

Drake felt his stomach drop. Tiffy had finally noticed "Draco" wasn't joking playfully, and she was staring at him with a mix of uncertainty and fear. Drake knew the look currently on Negaduck's face all too well, which meant he should have left five minutes ago. Only, once again, Negs surprised him.

"Hey, where did that big lug you call a husband get to?"

Tiffy pointed to a sliding glass door half hidden by pink curtains.

"It's been nice bit of hell talking to you, but I've got business to attend to." Negs promptly stood up, smiled at Tiffy - to which she recoiled- and headed out the sliding door.

Drake watched him go wondering what was wrong with the law abiding part of himself. Normally, he would have been right on Negaduck's tail putting a stop to whatever scheme he had put into action. But taking one, long look around, and then at Tiffy, Drake decided right then and there that he didn't care if Negs set fire to it. He had always been of the mind that some things just shouldn't be, and this place was definitely one of them. He started after Negs, but an annoying little voice stopped him. Leveling with Tiffy, he smiled at her wearily.

"Don't worry about it, he's like that with everybody. In fact, I'm surprised he stayed civil as long as he did."

"But why?" She implored softly, her eyes two big brown pools of tears.

"Ah, well, I don't know. I don't know what made him like this, but I do know you shouldn't take it personal."

"How can you stand it?" She sobbed. "How did you grow up to be so sweet, and he's, he's . . ."

Drake handed her a tissue. "A jerk?"

"Yes!"

"Truthfully, I'm kind of a jerk too -I'm not as mean as him, but I have my moments."

Tiffy blew her nose. "So? Everybody does, but I haven't heard you say one mean thing the whole time you've been here."

Drake laughed uncomfortably. "That's because you were in the kitchen."

"What?" She asked timidly.

"Well," he kicked at the ground, "Draco and I had a huge argument while you were in the kitchen, and we both said a lot of horrible things to each other, so I really can't say I'm better than him at this point."

"But did you start it?" Now she was gazing at him like a heartbroken puppy, making Drake feel like he'd stolen bread from a starving child.

"Yes and no."

"Yes and no?"

"Er . . . yes, because we always fight and it's no longer a matter of who started it, it's just something we do. No, because he was trying to provoke me and he did."

Tiffy relaxed a bit. "Then you didn't start it."

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter which of us started it."

"How come?"

"Because this really is the Twilight Zone," he mused.

"Huh?"

He snapped out of it. "Sorry. Um . . . It," he sighed, not believing himself. "It doesn't matter which of us started it because . . . because . . ." He stared straight into Tiffy's wide eyes. "Because . . .," _for one instant he wanted to die, and it was my fault_, "never mind . . . it doesn't matter. Excuse me, Mrs. Waffleburn, but I should go find my wayward twin."

Tiffy stood up crying and gave him a big bear hug. "Of course." She took him hard by the shoulders, gazing into his eyes earnestly. "You go find that brother of yours and tell him you're sorry, and that . . . and that you love him."

She broke down in Drake's arms, hiccuping into his shirt. Drake, not sure what he should do, patted her on the back and set her down gently. He smiled kindly and assured her that he would fix the rift between him and his brother . . . _with bars and thick concrete walls._

With a quick nod in Tiffy's direction, he bolted out the door before the waterworks turned back on, and ran head first into Lanton's rock hard gut.

* * *

**_Ah, thank God . . . the last day of class has finally come, until the Fall semester anyway. I plan to keep at my writing over the break, but up dates will be less frequent._**

**_Thanks for reading, if you have something to say -say it! (smiles)_**


	5. Dark Side of the Cheshire's Grin

With Tiffy fully occupied with drying her doleful chestnut eyes, Drake slipped through the scratchy baby pink curtains, keeping a weary eye on her. He really didn't want to be sucked into comforting her because she couldn't get over Negaduck doing what he did best: acting an ass.

Only once the frilly lace had settled, hiding the room from view, did Drake allow himself a triumphant smile. No overactive female hormones could keep this mallard down, he was simply too quick for them.

In a spin worthy of dancer, the mighty maskless mallard strut off the porch step, felt a lump beneath his foot and unceremoniously flattened his bill into a squishy, mountainous mass of rock.

"No, Gosalyn, I don't know where Electric Mayhem put their potatoes," he mumbled, trying to blink away the white spots around his head.

Lanton's boisterous laughter filled his ears.

"I was starting to wonder if Tiffy had glued you to the couch. Well, no sense standing around, your brother is waiting on us. Oh, watch your step round the stone bunnies, they'll trip you up something awful. "

Lanton gave Drake a playful shove towards what had probably been a deck at one point, but was now more of a large wood block with windows.

_ Convenient, a house side jail. _Drake thought, neither amused or scared.

The outside of the structure, like the rest of the place, was a bunny paradise, but once on the inside Drake felt his jaw drop through the floor.

Lanton chuckled like a greased up Santa.

"You didn't honestly think I'd put those damn rabbits of hers in my getaway room did ya? Come on, grab a chair and sit down"

Lanton clapped him on the back, forcing him to regain some of his senses the hard way.

What was this place? First flamingos, then bunnies, now a full working bar and grill decorated to the look and feel of a 1950's casino. It couldn't be the Twilight Zone, T.V. shows did not spontaneously spring to life in the backyards of suburbia, no matter how close the match.

Drake pinched himself.

He wasn't dreaming, and he knew he wasn't dead, so it wasn't hell.

His brain slammed on the breaks to the point he thought he smelled burning rubber.

How did know he wasn't dead? How did he know Negs hadn't actually shot him, killed the Waffleburns, and now they haunted the house?

_ I wonder if TAPS would investigate us?_ He mused idly. _It would figure my best T.V. appearance would end up on a show like that._

Still feeling like someone had stolen the center of gravity, Drake allowed himself to be guided to a round poker table roughly in the center of the room. Lanton smiled at him warmly, and pulled out the chair next to Negaduck for him to take.

Relief flooded his mind. Negs was still here, he wasn't dead after all. Unless . . . unless Negs had been caught in the explosion when he destroyed the house and he was dead too.

Drake caught Negs's eye, and mouthed "are we dead?" when Lanton had his back to them.

Negaduck minutely shook his head, whispered, "I wish," then subtly gestured to Lanton who had grabbed another chair.

The large man sat opposite them, his smile just as wide as before and just as vacant. A lime green drink mixed with fruit swirled in his cup before he chugged the whole thing, and smacked his lips.

The detective part of Drake's brain kicked on. This whole situation was wrong, the

diving head first into traffic wrong.

His eyes darted to his unlikely companion, taking in small details no one but him might ever have noticed: the angle of his chin, how he curled his hands, the number of crow's feet in the corner of his eye . . .

Crow's feet! Since when did he have crow's feet? Thirty-eight was nowhere near old enough for crow's feet!

Almost subconsciously he reached to touch the corner of his eye, but one curious look from their host was reason enough to turn it into a mindless, every day stretch. The kind everyone got from sitting too long. He would just have to wait until he got home. If they were there, they were there. He could live with that.

Another quick glance at Negaduck, left Drake to conclude that his twin was on edge, that he knew something he didn't, and that Negs had been right -this was not an accident.

Lanton smiled warmly, refilling his cup past overflowing.

"Could I offer you boys something to drink?"

A gruff "pass" slid off Negaduck's tongue.

Lanton chuckled, a twinkle in his eye.

"I figured you would after this morning. What about you? You thirsty?"

Drake met his eyes; the smile didn't reach.

"No thanks, had a fruit smoothie earlier, so I'm fine."

"Ah, suit yourself, but you're missing out on one helluva grade A southern mix. Guess you weren't joking about not being too big on drinking, Steve, sounds like the same is true of your brother here."

"Draco."

"Come again?"

"You want to talk, knock off this "Steve" crap."

His dirty brown eyes opened in mild surprise, accompanied by a small head shake.

"Fair enough, and sorry about that. Said your name was Draco, right? And your name is, uh, Drakey?"

"Drake," came the irritable, but straight forward reply.

"Man, someone did you wrong coming up with a nickname like that."

"Whaddya want?"

Lanton turned to Drake. "Blunt fellow, isn't he?"

"It's genetic." Drake said dryly.

Their oversized host shot his head back in a full bark of a laugh.

"Ooh, bet you two gave your momma a headache. So Drake, who's Gosalyn? That your sister, high school sweetheart?" He smiled teasingly.

"Who the hell cares," Negs snapped.

Lanton jumped. "Whoa, just curious."

"Yeah, well don't be," he snarled.

"Touchy subject, eh? She do something to you boys?"

"No." Drake said, annoyed.

"What kind of job does she have? She in the same line as you two?"

It had been said carelessly, but Drake felt the feathers on his back stand on end. Negaduck was positively murderous. He knew he was capable of a lot more tact and self control

than people credited him, but he had a limit and Lanton had just about reached it with his little questions.

Their host stopped, noticing his two guests had gone rigid.

"Something wrong, fellas?"

"No." Drake repeated.

"You sure?" Lanton inquired, sounding surprised.

"Yes," the boys said in union, deadpan.

The complete surprise that washed over Lanton's face, Drake felt was probably the only real expression he had given them.

"Great flying piranhas, that is 'bout the eeriest thing I've ever heard! I don't think I've ever heard a set of twins sound like you just did; all in unison like there was only one of ya. Which, uh, come to think of it, you two wearin' the same thing was an accident right? You're not all 'we are one' kinda people are ya?"

"No."

Drake gazed at Negs, then shrugged.

"Usually we're at least in different colours."

Negs glared. "Are you going to start talking about underwear preferences too?"

"Uh, no. I don't think I could. I never really paid attention to that."

"Shut up. Just shut up."

"Hey, you brought it up."

"I told you to drop it!"

"Then why-"

"DAMMIT DRAKE! Can you -for once- just LISTEN, nobody wants to hear it."

Drake folded his arms irritably.

"It's not my fault you always have to have the last word."

Negaduck made a hesitant choking motion with his hands towards his double, wishing a black hole would spontaneously appear and suck the moron into oblivion.

"Might want to take a breath there, boy. You'll pass out if you're not careful."

Negaduck curled his fingers and lowered his hands. He took a deep breath then dug his heel into Drake's foot, watching his mirror image bite his lip to keep a straight face.

"No more stupid comments, okay Drakey?" He smiled, removing his foot.

"Only if you stop playing footsies with me."

"WHY YOU-"

"KNOCK IT OFF!"

Surprised by the outburst, the quarrelsome ducks turned to their not so amused host, blue eyes wide.

"Now that I have your attention, so I don't embarrass myself further, what is Gosalyn to you?"

Negaduck laughed sharply. "Think obnoxious little brat with too much energy and not enough common sense."

Drake glowered at him.

"She is not!"

Negaduck returned the look.

"I watched her eat an entire box of Zombie Heads cereal. You cannot tell me she isn't hyper, that crap is over eighty percent sugar, and the rest is corn syrup, and fake wheat!"

Drake smiled sheepishly, rubbing his arm.

"Oh yeah, there is that. I should probably stop buying it, it can't be good for her."

"She might live longer if you do. Although, considering this is Gosalyn, it might not help, it's not like she listens to you."

"Gee, thanks."

"Whoa, whoa -okay."

Lanton waved his large hands over the table, bringing the attention back on him.

"She's a kid then? Gosalyn is a kid?"

Negs let out a snort. "Duh."

"She yours?"

Negaduck's lip curled and he thrust his thumb at Drake.

"No way in hell is that diminutive whelp mine, she belongs to the dweeb here."

Lanton cocked a smile, drink to his mouth.

"Don't like kids?"

Negaduck bore his cold blue eyes into that of his portly host's, looming over him without ever having moved a muscle.

"I rather be castrated with a hot butter knife."

Lanton stared at him, as did Drake who had instinctively crossed his legs.

". . . that was a bit more than I care to know."

"Then don't ask."

The friendly tone dropped from Lanton's voice and he sat his half empty cup down hard on the table, sloshing the contents.

"Now look here, you open your mouth and speak like that to me again and I promise you'll find a stone rabbit where the sun don't shine. I've had enough of your attitude, it's bad

enough you made Tiffy cry and left your brother to cover your dumb ass, so watch it."

Instinctively, Drake slouched down in his seat, preparing to dive under the table and bolt should his twin do what he _knew_ he was wanting to do.

Negaduck broke into a fit of laughter, which died almost instantly into a grin. His gun hand was shaking mercilessly, his knuckles turning white from restraint. His voice came out a low, toneless wraith devoid of all but calm fury.

"Sorry, but I don't spread my legs and close my mouth for overweight grease monkeys."

Lanton smiled amusingly. A sharp flick of his wrist had Negaduck belly down on the table, pinned down by his equally large knuckles digging between the mallard's shoulder blades. A small gasp from the villain could just be heard over a crack.

"You better learn to do as I say, boy, or having your brother stitch up your backside with a rusty needle will be the best part of your day."

Lanton effortlessly returned the withering duck to his seat like he had done nothing more than help him up after a fall.

Drake, remembering how to move again, leaned towards Negaduck and wrapped his hand around his double's wrist; everything about the duck was trembling. It would be on hell of a situation for "Negaduck" to come out of the woodwork and murder someone in his civilian clothes.

Negaduck breathed deep to steady himself and winced. Leaning into his lap he let out a low growl. He was fairly certain the bastard cracked, more than likely broke, a rib or two, and that they were now poking him in the lung.

Lanton partially stood to look at him. "What's the matter, Draco?"

"Oh, nothing," he said sardonically, raising his head. "Just feeling the effects of brotherly love." _I am going to hang this bastard by his intestines. Nobody gets one up one Negaduck, especially a fat rabbit fu . . . DAMMIT._

A fresh jolt of pain shot down Negaduck's spine like a lightning bolt. He was dimly aware that Drake had hold of his arm, but then, right now he couldn't honestly say he gave a rat's ass who had a hold of him.

An all too familiar voice broke through the storm clouds in his head.

"Uh, anything I can do to help?"

Negs's brilliant blue eyes locked with Drake's.

"_No_."

He flinched.

"Ow, son of a . . ."

A rumble more befitting a caged animal rolled out of Negaduck, causing him to shiver either out of anger or pain.

Lanton sat back, mildly amused, as he had now unwillingly become part of the scenery.

Negs huffed. "All right already, quit looking at me like that, it's disgusting."

Lanton smiled at him.

"Well shoot now, it was just getting interesting, but if you two are ready to do things my way, fine by me."

"Fine will be a cold day in hell, asshole." He said it so quietly he barely heard it himself, but Drake could guess and so could Lanton.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you."

"I SAID FINE."

Lanton smirked. "That's what I thought."

Negaduck sat up as straight as he could and looked his host in the eye.

"But I refuse to retract my statement."

Lanton started chuckling. It was an eerie laughter that the two Mallards hadn't heard before, quite frankly it scared them both, only one felt his stomach bottom out and the other couldn't stop trying to formulate an escape rout that would work. It felt like they were slowly sinking into yet another level of hell on earth.

Normally, Drake would have placed the blame squarely on Negaduck's shoulders for not letting him leave, but in the end it had been his choice to stay. He had stayed, now he would have to live, or die, with it.

* * *

_Author's Note: I changed Drake's age to 38 because of the episode Clash Reunion. Drake graduated in the 70's based on their clothes, and if he's getting a reunion notice in 1992, obviously it's his 20yr reunion. Subtract 20 from '92, you get 1972. If he graduated at the age of 18, that puts his birth year at about 1954. So in 1992, he'd have been 38. And yes, I decided he IS egotistical enough to think he should have crows feet despite fast approaching 40._


	6. And Shatter I Will

" . . . and the fear still shakes me, so hold me until it sleeps . . ."  
----------------------------------------------------------------------

The world was tightening its grip on him, harder and harder it squeezed its hand round every last one of his nerves, slowly breaking them. Like an unrequited lover bent on vengeance, ripping you a new one all the while saying "I love you", this mind fuck was beginning to get to him, and he found he didn't want to breath. Lord, let someone come and beat him within an inch of his life, he did not want to breath anymore. It hurt. But _he_ would never know the extent of that hurt, purely physical- horseshit. What that horse's ass wasn't aware of . . . well, more appropriate to say what he _did_ know would be an easier read than Curious George.

What may have been a grim smile graced his face as his eyes briefly alighted on the spectacle beside him. His own features would never reflect that depth of truth his opposite held so dear, obnoxiously wearing on his sleeve like a bleeding purple heart. It was all peaches to him, ripe for the taking and devouring. Quick, nimble fingers and a distracting speech about how he saw the error of this and that, and blah, blah, blah . . . he would find himself bleeding to death on the floor with him laughing above, ranting about pillaging, and raping, and, and a whole hoard of other things he'd never end up doing. He sit on his chest, watch him fade, and send him off most likely with "see you in hell, sucker", and his most winning smile; which brought about a thought that churned his stomach in a most unpleasant way- things like that ran both ways.

A surge of something damnable- he suspected more than just bile and booze- rose abruptly in his throat. He coughed towards his lap and spat on the floor to keep from throwing up in front of them. It barely worked. The hand clasped on his arm gave him goose bumps and a desire to run himself to death, until he couldn't feel any more. Oh man, he hated being touched. He didn't like people wanting to touch and comfort him. He didn't like their trying words of comfort. Hell, he didn't like liking people, or people trying to like him.

He winced uncontrollably. He also _hated _the searing hot pain bubbling inside him, humbling him to the point of tears. Coincidentally, he hated crying too.

A staggered gasp left him gulping for air through his teeth. One good thing about a broken rib: it made for a wonderful distraction. He could almost imagine his disgust leaving him for the pain, but his blood pressure rose into his ears, his eyes watering and burning. A punctured lung did this right? He was bleeding internally and would be dead soon. Good God of grace what a relief that would be, to die quickly. _Now. Now. Now!_

His heart still beat on, mocking him._ Sonofahamstersmokingasscrackedwhore!_

His lunch threatened to rise up in revolt. Scratch that. He hadn't eaten in almost two days. Eating made him feel sick, little kiddie bad-touch sick in what he assumed was a bad way because it made him feel good and dirty. Bloody hell, what was wrong with him? He hated kids more than anything . . . _aw fuck me, fuck me, fuck, fuck, fuck . . ._ He wanted to drown and die anyway, why the hell not in misplaced aggression? His wild blue eyes flew open for a fraction of a second. Oh yeah, he was headed for hell with that one.

An odd tingle resurfaced in his mind.

Why the hell was_ his_ hand still on his arm?

A little voice pipped up singing in his head . . . _you know why_. . . which he promptly countered with "no I don't."

The voices smiled at him._ . . .liar, liar, lair, lair . . . ._ and continued on, and on, muffling his own thoughts until he violently flung them into the mental equivalent of a black hole.

Mentally he kicked himself, _shit. _

So he lied again. It didn't matter. _He'd_ never know, he never knew. Damn duck would notice a crack in the street before he saw the hole, even after falling in it.

He raised his eyes. Evil was smiling at him. Evil knew him. Evil knew what he was thinking, saw all his lies for what they were, but _he_ never saw The voice in his head rounded on him again, and this time he looked into his own eyes and a minute later it registered that his hand held something warm.

Oh yeah, he was done for.

Drake watched in horror the fluctuating colours in his double's eyes. He was on his own now and he secretly wondered if he had been from the start. A painful little thought clicked in his brain and quite suddenly he was positive that he understood everything that was happening. This place was beginning to blur the lines of reality, but he felt calm.

His eyes found Lanton's, the guy was still laughing at them, at his double.

"Are you with F.O.W.L.?" Screw the consequences, he could always say he heard about them from Launchpad.

Lanton eyed him queerly. Drake knew when he was being sized up.

"An indirect, covert branch I assume. In fact, I bet you occupy a little out of the way office in the basement. You found yourself a big new theory and decided to test it. Am I right?"

Lanton smiled and raised a hand in surrender. "Not bad."

"Why are we here?"

A cigarette lit up in their hosts fat lips.

"You know why."

"I think, that you think my brother and I are something we're not."

The big man's eyes narrowed.

"I doubt it."

Another long drag on cigarette had smoke curling round their heads. Drake inhaled the scent of tobacco a little nauseated, but held his cool.

"I do and I'll ask you to prove it."

A sly turn of the mouth had Lanton sneering at him.

"You play dumb too much, you know that."

It was partly a question, but more statement than anything.

"And your so called brother can drop the act."

Drake briefly glanced at his mirror image, his hand was starting to sweat.

"He's not acting. I don't know what you slipped him, but I need to take him home."

Lanton's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You think I drugged him while we were in the bar?"

"You said it, not me."

Drake rose, pulling his quivering double to his feet, the lost mallard had yet to let go of him. It was a pitiable site in Drake's eyes, or would have been had he been able to find the will to pity him, right now he felt nothing but contempt. For once though, his feelings of animosity were not directed at the man he was supporting. The door was so close, but so was the entity hovering behind them.

"You'll leave in a body bag or not at all, Darkwing."

Anger swept over him then, fast and unforgiving, where it came from he couldn't have said because he simply didn't know. Self preservation did funny things to people. He snapped his head round and faced Lanton off, pouring every ounce of command and self control he had into his voice and posture.

"Listen here, jackass, I don't know where you got the idea I was Darkwing Duck, or what my brother has to do with this, but I'm outta here. Go play your sick games with someone else. Come, Draco, let's get you to a doctor."

Lanton came round the table and leveled a large gun at the Mallards, leering at them either in murderous intent or frustration of a perverted kind; it was hard to tell.

"You're mine. Understand?"

Lanton's finger tightened round the trigger just as Drake pulled his double behind him and said a quiet, but forceful, "no."

A loud bang ensued and the gun slipped back into his pocket.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Drake Mallard trudged himself back up the path to his house in a black mood. He opened the door and set his keys on the table at the foot of the stairs, pausing to survey the scene in the living room. Gosalyn, Launchpad, and Honker were all sitting on the couch watching what sounded like a monster truck rally.

Gosalyn's bright green eyes darted from the screen to her dad and back again before they doubled back and she shouted, "cool gear, Dad, you did get ice cream! What flavour is it?"

She bounced up and all but ripped the bag out of his hand, digging out the contents and hollering at Honker that she was going to get bowls and spoons for them. Drake smiled at her, ruffling her hair as she took off for the kitchen. She was still grounded, but he could let it slide for another hour or two.

Launchpad tapped him on the shoulder, startling Drake out of his reverie.

"Hey, guess what, DW, my family is coming through St. Canard on their way to the air show down south. My baby sister, Loopy, called to say they planned on stopping by the house for a a few days."

Drake snapped into himself with a sardonic glare, and looked at his faithful side kick like he was crazy.

"Your family? LP where would we put them? The Tower?"

Launchpad smiled broadly. "They can stay? All right! I better call Loopy back, they're only a few hours out."

He picked up the phone and started dialing. Drake was wide eyed.

"Wait, LP, how many people are we talking about?"

Launchpad looked up. "Huh? Oh, only three, my mom, dad, and Loopy. Why?"

Drake sighed in relief, three people he could deal with.

"Oh, nothing. I was just afraid you say something like you had five brothers and sisters and a grandfather."

Launchpad laughed a deep, light chuckle. "Oh no way, my grandfather hates road trips."

Drake paled. "You have that many brothers and sisters?"

Again his friend laughed, only harder this time. "Naw, it's just me and my sister. Although I know a set of triplet boys that are like nephews to me, they would jump at the chance to come and stay."

Blue eyes narrowed in fatherly suspicion, he _did_ have a young daughter to think of.

"And just how old are these boys?"

"Ah, let's see . . . thirteen last month I believe."

"No way! I am not letting teenage boys anywhere near my daughter, not now not ever!"

"Aw, don't worry, they're good kids, Junior Woodchucks, all three of 'em."

Drake pouted.

"I don't care if they were trained by S.U.S.H., they are not coming near my daughter."

Launchpad raised his finger to call for silence and turned back to the phone, obviously which ever relative he had called had answered finally. It was a short conversation that ended with Launchpad happily exclaiming that his family would arrive within the hour. Drake felt his feathers rise, the house was a mess. After delegating who would be tackling what chore, and where the McQuacks were to sleep, Drake pulled Launchpad aside with a indiscernible expression clouding his face.

"Hey, LP, lets not go to the Tower while your family is here. I don't want to give them any clues as to what we really do."

Launchpad grinned. "Hey, sure, no problem, they think I'm a shop teacher anyway."

Drake felt his stomach drop. "You teach shop during the day?"

Upon seeing his friend's expression, he smiled all the wider. "What, you don't think I can teach shop? Think about it, clumsy or not, if I can keep a plane in the air I can teach a kid how to make a spice rack."

Drake shook his head and chuckled. "Right, how silly of me."

He tried smiling, but there was something in Launchpad's swirling, honey colored eyes that made him falter.

"You okay, Drake?" Launchpad finally asked.

"Yeah, why?"

Launchpad considered him for a moment, giving Drake the oddest feeling; almost like being caught just out of the shower. A few breathless moments later, his best friend smiled warmly.

"Yeah, you'll be okay. Come on, lets go get some ice cream before the kids eat it all."

He slapped him on the back and headed for the kitchen. When he realized the crime fighting mallard hadn't budged, he turned and called out, "by the way, what flavor did you get?"

The might masked mallard smiled shrewdly, following Launchpad up. "Oh, just banana. Gosalyn's least favourite."

Launchpad laughed. "You know she'll eat it just to spite you."

He smiled for real then. "Yeah, I know. Let's go stop her."

"Okie-dokie, DW."

They entered the kitchen, Drake rolling his eyes at what could have been a war zone. Gosalyn didn't know it yet, but she would be stuck cleaning the kitchen after she finished her ice cream. For right now, though, she was happy, and Drake would not have said a thing to burst that smile for all the world- even if it _was_ just to get her to do chores. For right now, he needed her smile.

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**_I officially - and quite happily- declare this finished. I may add a little here and there, but I'm happy with it being short and sweet. I just hope you fine readers think so. Drop me a line and tell me what you think. Thanks for reading._**

_**-Anna**_


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